riding (out) the storm
by aelias
Summary: Rick and Carol have a conversation. Daryl overhears.


Written for a prompt on Tumblr: "You weren't supposed to hear that." Slightly spoilery for comic events and possible show events.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead. TWD is the property of Robert Kirkman/AMC, and are not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

He found her in the bedroom she shared with Michonne, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the window. If it weren't for the clenched fingers around the bedsheets, or the blood staining the white cotton (the covers, the pillows, her shirt), or the fact that it was black as pitch outside, this moment would've seemed like a normal snapshot in time. As it was, there was an eeriness to how odd she looked, with her back ramrod straight and her eyes focused straight ahead. She looked more like she was preparing to take an exam and less like someone trying to come to terms in the aftermath of a bloodbath.

Daryl tapped the side of his booted foot against the doorframe, but when that didn't get her attention, he slowly, quietly, slipped inside, closing the door behind him. Her lack of reaction pushed him to make his way towards her, taking a seat on a clean patch of cotton beside her.

A full minute passed in silence before she spoke, without acknowledging him in any way.

"You weren't supposed to hear that."

No, he wasn't. He had been standing on the back porch with a bucket of warm water, trying to wash away the dried, sticky blood from his arms, shoulders, chest, neck. They had already seen him without his shirt - he had to take it off to help stem the thick blood flowing from where Carl's eye had been shot out - but he wanted to preserve the illusion of secrecy about his past by hiding in the dark, away from the curious unfamiliar gazes that he had more than enough experience with and even less time for.

He had just been donning his stained vest when he heard them coming in through the front and making their way down the hallway. Well, Carol was heading in his direction, Rick seemed to be following her and finally caught up with her just before she reached the door. For a reason he didn't know, Daryl edged further into the shadowy corner of the porch, leaning against the house and listening to Rick placate Carol.

"Listen, it wasn't your fault - "

"Yes, it is. It's _always_ my fault."

"You told him to stay inside the house, but he didn't listen. That's not on you."

"I could've stopped it. I could've stopped him - "

"No, he was too quick, you did your best - "

"But it wasn't enough. Another child is dead because I didn't do enough."

"You did everything you could in that mo - "

"I killed Lizzie."

Daryl was sure that Rick had stopped breathing, just as he had. The silence suddenly felt heavy, weighted down, and not being able to bear it, Daryl slowly slid to his knees on the wood, still leaning against the siding.

Before Rick had a chance to respond, Carol continued.

"I killed Lizzie. I found her and Mika with Tyreese and Judith after the prison fell. We found a small house in a grove, we were going to try and live there, make a life together. We didn't think we'd find anyone else," she quickly added, as though fearing Rick would chastise her decision to settle down. "And one day, when Tyreese and I went to get some water, we came back and found Lizzie standing over her sister's body, covered in her sister's blood. She had stabbed her to death, and made sure that she didn't hurt her brain so Mika could come back and show us that we had been wrong about the walkers." Her voice hitched, the first indication that she was struggling with the story she had to tell, and the noise lodged itself in Daryl's throat.

"Tyreese and I…she couldn't be around other people, and with Judith…," her words became more fragmented the further she got to the end, and when she finally finished with, "I took her out to a field of flowers, told her to look at them, and then shot her in the back of the head," it came out ghostly and haunted, as though the words had been spoken by something inhuman, a separate, spiritual entity without a corporeal form.

"Carol…I don't - "

But instead of waiting to hear what he had to say, Carol changed direction and headed back towards the front of the house. Despite her boots, her thuds up the steps were almost silent as she walked into her bedroom and shut the door.

Daryl sighed at the same time Rick did, expelling the story from their souls as though it had happened to them. A pause, and then Rick made the rest of the journey to the back door, opening it and peering out. At first he didn't see Daryl where he was crouched, but when he noticed him, he did nothing except jerk his head back inside the house, towards the stairs that would lead to Carol. The gesture hadn't even been finished before Daryl was on his feet and making his way past Rick, up the stairs and into Carol's bedroom, where he sat with her now.

"No," he responded to her statement. "Yer right. I wasn't supposed to hear that. 'm sorry." He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. "But, Carol - "

"Don't - "

"Carol, _listen_ \- "

"Daryl, _don't!"_ It was both loud and quiet, the desperate plea that clawed its way up her throat and out into the air, where she couldn't take it back, where she couldn't hide the anguish that had been simmering beneath the surface for days, weeks, months, since her shaky finger pulled the trigger and ended her little girl's life. Ashamed, she covered her mouth with her hand, but she hadn't cleaned herself and the red stains, the coppery smell was enough to break her completely, and she bowed over herself and howled into her knees.

Immediately, Daryl folded himself over her, resting his chin at the base of her neck, soothing both her and himself with nonsense shushing, trying to keep the pieces of her from falling apart.


End file.
